


No Need to Pray, No Need to Speak

by dayari



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Hand Jobs, M/M, Oral Sex, PWP, Post-Game, Sleepy Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-07
Updated: 2015-04-07
Packaged: 2018-03-21 17:25:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3700821
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/dayari/pseuds/dayari
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Altaïr, Malik, and a drowsy morning at the fortress.<br/>(Very mild spoilers for the end of <i>Assassin's Creed 1</i>.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	No Need to Pray, No Need to Speak

**Author's Note:**

> I'm doing Camp NaNo this month, trying to finish and polish as many of my WIPs as I can. This is one of them! 
> 
> Sometimes it pisses me off that manual/oral sex are so often treated as mere precursors to penetration. I think they deserve just as much attention, so I wrote this. It's basically just me having too many Altaïr/Malik feelings and trying to practice writing porn. 
> 
> The title is a line from Florence + the Machine's wonderful _Never Let Me Go_. I hope you enjoy!

The loose curl of a hand around his half-hard cock roused him from a dream of windswept rooftops. But it was the brush of four callused fingertips over his hip that pulled him fully out of sleep.

There was a single moment where everything sharpened. The muted crunch of footsteps from outside was suddenly just as loud in Malik's ears as his own heartbeat. 

But then his subconscious mind recognized the familiar cadence of Altaïr's breathing beside him. With each breath came the salty scent of what little sweat their bodies had worked up pressed together in the warm desert night. 

Malik relaxed again. He didn't open his eyes, content to float in the warm darkness for a while longer.

The familiarity of Altaïr's presence lulled him halfway back to sleep. The other assassin was moving above him, whisper-soft currents of air stirred into motion along his sleep-warm skin. 

The edges of Malik's awareness became fuzzy and vague. He almost thought he was back on the rooftop of his dream, tasting dust on his tongue and triumph at the back of his mouth. 

The drag of the pillow against his cheek became the slight sting of fine sand whipped into his face by the wind. The brief, warm touch of fingers at his hip morphed into the familiar weight of sheathed knives. He felt more than heard his breathing deepen, the distant footsteps and chatter of the awakening fortress floating away.

"Malik?" Altaïr whispered from half a realm away, the word a single warm burst of air that stirred the fine hairs on his stomach. 

Altaïr had moved downwards, a palm pressed hot and big around his hip. Half-asleep, Malik followed the soft, coaxing touch to his ribs, and turned over onto his back.

The dream disintegrated at the edges once more. It didn't let him go entirely, but sent him a little further towards waking. His face was pressed into the pillow at an angle that was now uncomfortable. His breathing caught on the beginnings of a snore before he slowly rolled his head around to the other side. 

Trust Altaïr to make a disagreeable nuisance of himself even when he'd just woken up. But the warm hand on his hip felt nice, as did the fingers that were still holding his half-hard cock, warming to his body heat until Malik's half-asleep mind could barely discern where his own flesh ended and Altaïr's began.

As if he'd heard the errant thought, Altaïr moved, just a slow, coaxing slide that drew a little more blood into his cock. His grip was loose and unassuming, with no real intent behind the touch—just enough to be felt, but not enough to overload the sensitive nerve endings that were only just waking up.

The crick in his neck forgotten, Malik sighed, and felt a tension flow out of him that he hadn't even noticed was there. Altaïr's hand was hot and slightly rough around him. 

And it was slick, and now that he thought about it Malik noticed the bitter scent of oil in the air. Warm drops of it slipped down the crease where his groin met his thigh, leaving damp paths that chilled instantly in shadowy room.

Altaïr shifted, dragging the sheets further down. Malik's thighs prickled into goosebumps in the cool morning air. Warm, slightly damp bursts of Altaïr's breath ghosted over Malik's stomach. 

Another drag of touch up and down his length, and he woke up a little more. The curl of fingers loosened around the head of his cock, as though Altaïr wanted to see just how slowly he could guide Malik's half-asleep body into arousal. 

Malik's heartbeat reverberated in his stomach and his groin, a deepening drum. Altaïr squeezed the base of his cock. He followed the vein on the underside with his thumb on the next upstroke, but steered clear of the sensitive bundle of nerves just below the head.

Malik didn't know how long he simply lay there and let Altaïr touch him, oddly content to just breathe through every patient slide of the slick, rough warmth of his hand. 

He might even have fallen back to half-sleep in between, lulled into drowsiness by their mingled breathing. The faraway clatter of booted feet echoed through the fortress' winding corridors as the novices got up. The tightness of goosebumps on his skin lessened gradually as he got used to the chilly air. 

Altaïr might have whispered his name again, or maybe Malik just dreamed it, because the gentle pull of touch on his cock never faltered.

The touch of Altaïr's arm against Malik's left knee was warm enough that it startled him out of the drowsiness. The thin blankets dragged coarsely over Malik's calf with the movement. Malik allowed his thighs to spread open when Altaïr touched his knee again, this time with the gentle press of just his thumb.

Altaïr's breathing was closer now, warming a damp patch on his thigh and fanning upwards to stir the trail of coarse hair down Malik's stomach. His heat was a furnace in the crisp morning air as he resettled his weight between Malik's legs.

Slowly, he twisted his grip. His callused fingertips rode the slick crease just below the head of Malik's cock. Altaïr tightened his hold around the shaft into a warm, wet squeeze that dragged the air from Malik's lungs with a hitching sigh. 

Altaïr barely let him pause for breath. Then his oil-slicked thumb rubbed over the head of Malik's cock, with all the slow thoughtfulness of someone who was, for whatever reason, quite enjoying the opportunity to take his time. 

The touch sent a spike of heat through him. Malik's hips twitched a little at the unexpected sharp sensation. A little gasp escaped him, half-caught between two breaths, still slow and even from sleep. 

Altaïr smiled. Although he still hadn't opened his eyes, Malik all but _heard_ it in the barely changed cadence of his breathing. He was too warm and comfortable for true irritation, but he frowned a little, felt sweat begin to prickle along his hairline, and wondered drowsily if he could muster up the energy to swat at the smirk on Altaïr's unshaven face.

The edge of Altaïr's thumb chased the thick vein on the underside of his cock. His palm smoothed velvety rough over the head. Malik's sigh sounded louder in the quiet room, almost edging into a moan. 

And, well. That would just not do. He wouldn't pant like an overused bellows at Altaïr's touch when they hadn't so much as exchanged good mornings yet. At last, Malik opened his eyes.

The smirk was there, but it was soft-edged, not as smug as it could have been. It was gentler than he'd expected, tucked into the corner of Altaïr's mouth like something secret. Wan morning light trickled in through the window behind him. Altaïr's eyes were dark, softened to a black glaze with the pupils blown wide. 

And for a moment the look on Altaïr's face gave Malik pause, smoothed down the light bristle of his annoyance. He was crouched between Malik's legs, one arm curled around his thigh for leverage and the other hand still around his cock, dark with blood against Altaïr's tanned fingers. His short hair was rumpled from sleep, a few wayward strands sticking up and catching a gleam of sunlight.

Their gazes met. Altaïr blinked. His expression shuttered slightly, like it had taken him a couple of seconds to pull his mind up from the peaceful, unguarded place that Malik's closed eyes had lulled him to. 

His fingers pressed more firmly into the long muscle of Malik's thigh to keep him in place. There was no hesitation in the touch, but no spark of an unvoiced challenge either. Malik allowed his muscles to go loose again. He let his head fall back into the pillows, watching Altaïr out of half-closed eyes.

Altaïr was leaning over him. He blocked most of the light from the window. Malik could barely make out the gleam of oil-slicked skin when Altaïr resumed his stroking, squeezing a little too hard around the head of his cock as if in reprimand for having opened his eyes. 

Malik breathed out slowly at the pressure. Sweat was beginning to dampen his face in earnest. His hair stuck uncomfortably to the back of his neck, and Malik rolled his head to the side on the pillow to watch Altaïr look at him.

In the dim light, his eyes seemed unfathomably dark. Altaïr's gaze skittered down and then up again, like he couldn't decide what to feast his eyes on first, Malik's face or his cock. His mouth was half open to let out his slow, heavy breaths. Morning light shimmered on the stubble on his cheeks, silvered the scar on his lips.

Altaïr was as naked as he was. His own shadow hid his groin, but Malik could just barely make out his erection in the shadows, dark against the blankets. His knees were spread apart, but not far enough to give his cock any kind of friction against the sheets. 

For a moment Malik couldn't help but pause and linger. Altaïr wasn't so much as laying a hand on himself—he would've had one free if he'd let go of Malik's thigh. But his fingers were still digging into the corded muscles there, leaving a pleasant throbbing ache that Malik was sure would bloom into bruises later.

Altaïr's callused thumb caught on the sensitive bundle of nerves just below the head of his cock. Malik hissed in a breath through his teeth. His hips jolted, squirmed up into the tight, slick circle of Altaïr's grip. For the first time, he realized he had his hand clenched in the blankets, at first only a loose, nerveless hold but now a tight grip, his sweaty palm sticking to the rough fabric.

Altaïr let out a long, slow breath. The warm gust of air tickled Malik's hip. He looked as wrecked as he felt, his eyes half-lidded and hazy with raw desire, the deep flush on his cheeks spreading down to his chest, visible even in the dim light. 

Malik shuddered helplessly as Altaïr began twisting his wrist on each upstroke, rocking with the long, aching pulls of Altaïr's slick hand as best as he could. He could hear him now, the wet, soft sounds of his squeezing grip. Malik's breathing was raspy and loud in the quiet room. 

He groaned low in his throat when the steady rhythm broke with an unexpected squeeze around the base of his erection. Altaïr drew his hand up again, engulfing the oversensitive tip in a prolonged rough slide through the sinewy center of his palm. Malik let his head fall back into the pillows and stared blindly up at the cracks in the ceiling, because watching the wet head of his cock slip in and out of Altaïr's oil-slicked grip was almost too much. 

On the next stroke, Altaïr's fingers paused. Malik gasped, chest heaving as he took the reprieve for what it was and fought to suck in air. Each breath was thick with the oil and the saltier scent of their bodies. His cock was leaking steadily now, wetness beading at the tip and sliding down to mingle with the oil in Altaïr's grip.

It was a strange, weighted thing, Malik thought as he caught his breath, this moment between them. It was unlike their hasty couplings in a deserted corner of the fortress, or even the fierce passion that rose between them by the firelight at the end of a long day. Perhaps it was the early hour, some cobwebbed residue of sleep that now softened them both.

Fabric rustled when Altaïr shifted. He slid a bit further down the sheets. The slow pull of his hand started up again. The head of Malik's cock felt like bruised fruit in Altaïr's fist, sensitive almost to the point of pain. Low, near-silent groans escaped him with each breath every time Altaïr ran his thumb over the slit. The sheets stuck to Malik's sweaty skin, a rasp of sensation all down his back as he writhed slowly under Altaïr's hand, his hand fisted tightly in the fabric.

Altaïr's throat worked as he swallowed. Then something gave, a visible slackening of his awkward-looking crouch. He shifted forward, moving swiftly, like he'd held himself back for too long, and ducked down to lap at Malik's leaking erection.

Malik's hoarse shout was half-muffled by the startled breath he took, thoroughly unprepared. Altaïr's breathing still quickened to hear it, brushing coolly over the wet head. The sensation echoed like ripples on a pond, reverberating as though the slick, slightly coarse prickle of Altaïr's tongue were still there. Molten heat pulled through Malik's groin. He shuddered helplessly as he felt another few drops of fluid well up at the swollen tip.

"Altaïr—," he choked out, whether as a warning or a command he did not know.

His voice was so rough that he almost didn't recognize it as his own. He bit down on the _please_ , and then nearly through his lip when Altaïr heard it anyway and swallowed him whole.

Wetness and suction and the unexpected, glorious softness of Altaïr's mouth. And _heat_ , after the cool current of morning air, so sudden and searing that Malik nearly sobbed with it. He spread his shaking legs further. A muscle jumped uncontrollably in his thigh. He felt flayed open, pulled apart at the seams by the near-silent, yearning slide of Altaïr's lips around him.

He fumbled his hand free of the blankets to curl tingling, nerveless fingers around Altaïr's jaw, over the scrape of stubble. Altaïr looked up at him. Golden glints of morning light caught in his eyes. Malik felt his hammering pulse under his fingertips. There was no gleam of smugness in his gaze, not even now, just a simple, focused intent.

From this angle, he could see a few silvery scars on Altaïr's upper back, the flex of powerful muscles in his shoulders as he moved. His tongue was a bit rougher than usual. But with the languid drag of his lips around his cock, the friction got gradually slicker, and Malik had to squeeze his eyes shut at the thought of Altaïr's mouth watering at the taste of him.

Altaïr's breath came in raspy puffs of air, ruffling the dark trail of hair on Malik's stomach. With clumsy, shaking fingers, he caught up Malik's slackened hand and squeezed. 

A tremor was running through Altaïr's palm, faint but bone-deep. Malik wound his fingers around Altaïr's knuckles and squeezed back. Altaïr groaned, the noise choked and guttural in his throat. He coughed a little and drew back, heaved a few wet breaths around the darkly flushed head of Malik's cock, unwilling to let him go even for a second.

And Altaïr's mouth was so tight around him, like a slick silken glove that squeezed and squeezed. Malik dug his fingernails into the tanned back of Altaïr's hand. His rough gasps for breath were loud in the quiet room. He felt spread open like a book, raw and tender where Altaïr touched him, his fierce, trembling grip around Malik's hand and the clasp of fingers on his thigh. 

Altaïr moaned, low, and ran his lips over the swollen tip of Malik's erection. Then took him deep again, and licked down under the head, a prickle of velvety slickness, until the edges of Malik's vision glowed blood-red and he tasted salt at the back of his throat.

Through Altaïr's messy tufts of hair, he caught a blurred glimpse of the scar on his mouth, broadened into a shadowy line by the stretch of his lips. And suddenly he was there, nearly, nearly _there_. He could only hold on, clinging to the reassuring solidity of Altaïr's hand. And Altaïr's mouth pulled on him mercilessly, the tight, wet seal of stretched lips sliding down until he'd swallowed him nearly to the root, taking him down to the hot, soft, clenching back of his throat.

The first trickle of his seed into Altaïr's mouth felt so good Malik thought he'd burst from it. He sobbed once, and then it overtook him in a blinding rush, pulses so deep they ached. Altaïr's mouth worked slickly around him, his tongue rubbing relentlessly over the white-hot searing bundle of nerves just below the head, and Malik cried out at last, a hoarse shout that echoed against the stone walls. 

It felt like it would go on forever. He struggled to move, whether to squirm closer or away he did not know. Gentling, wet suction coaxed another spurt of his seed from him. Malik's hand spasmed in Altaïr's hold. Altaïr finally relented, until he was just lavishing slow, soft licks up the shaft.

Even lying down, Malik felt dizziness overcome him. The bed seemed to spin and tilt. Malik gasped and gasped for breath, and finally shut his eyes, taking refuge in the glowing darkness behind his eyelids. Altaïr was slowly relinquishing his softening cock. He mouthed idly at the root and finally let the head slide from his lips. The cool air was a shock to the wet, sensitive skin.

Outside, the birds that nested under the fortress' roofs had finally begun to sing. Their morning songs reached Malik as though through a long tunnel, echoing as though he had fallen back asleep for a moment.

He rolled his head around on the pillow and slitted his eyes open just a bit. Altaïr was just looking at him, still kneeling, motionless save for an absent-minded slow drift of his four fingertips through the coarse hair on Malik's thigh.

Malik frowned vaguely. That would just not do. He tightened his hold around Altaïr's palm. He wanted to keep holding Altaïr's hand, but he also wanted... 

Mind made up, he hauled Altaïr up by the grip on his fingers. Altaïr went where Malik tugged him, though he looked weak-kneed and almost drowsy, his eyes so very dark now, far from the amber that shone in the midday sun. 

Altaïr gasped a little when his balance resettled. Malik winced in sympathy—he could almost hear Altaïr's knees creak under the prolonged pressure. And still Altaïr shook, a tremor so fine that Malik wouldn't have noticed, had they not been so close, sharing the same air between their slowing breaths.

Malik ran the backs of his knuckles down the trail of hair on Altaïr's belly, too fast to tickle. The skin was sweat-damp and quivering. Altaïr sucked in a slow, steadying breath at Malik's touch, his glazed eyes falling half shut.

Malik's fingers found Altaïr's cock blood-flushed and thick, but sticky with his spent seed. He blinked in surprise. Surely Altaïr couldn't have... He would've had a hand free to touch himself, if he'd let go of Malik's thigh. That he'd been overwhelmed by his own pleasure, just from tending to Malik...

The hot, tender skin was wet and sensitive. Altaïr flinched a little from his questioning touch, hissing in a breath through his teeth. Braced as he was above Malik, his arm shook and nearly gave out where he'd balanced his weight on it.

There was a moment when Malik saw the opening quite clearly, like a weak spot in a dueling partner's footwork. Once, he would have dived into it without hesitation—perhaps not gleeful, but at least gratified to breach Altaïr's spiked iron defenses. He would've used it to tease, at the very least, if not to outright mock.

But it was morning, and the fortress was only just waking up around them. The novices' chatter was beginning to drift up from the courtyard, with a few first clangs of weaponry. This was not a time for words.

Malik put a resolute hand on the back of Altaïr's neck and pulled him down. The pillow was wide enough for them both. 

Down in their shadowy, rumpled blankets, Altaïr's breaths fanned gently across Malik's collarbone. Malik pressed his lips just beside Altaïr's ear. The sleep-warm scent of his hair was a familiar, welcome fragrance, beckoning him to sleep the morning away. 

He held his mouth there, against the pulse in Altaïr's temple, tasted the salt of Altaïr's sweat and the faint beat of his heart, wordless.

It was Altaïr who fell back to sleep first. He lay sprawled over Malik, their damp skin cooling together. Malik's ribs felt tight and constricted under Altaïr's weight. He was quite heavy, a drowsy mass of tanned skin and faint, twisting scars. But Malik felt him fall asleep, as his muscles melted slowly into a boneless, warm weight over him.

Altaïr had put one hand near the edge of the bed, the way he always did, to quickly reach the knives stashed between the mattress and the wooden frame. Malik took no offense—he did the same on the other side.

When his fingers hadn't become curiously attached to the warm, soft skin between Altaïr's shoulders, at least. Sunlight edged through the window, gilding Altaïr's back. Malik felt his breaths against his chest and under his hand, a slow, even rhythm.

At last Malik let his hand fall. He curled his fingers close to his own weapons on the other side of the mattress. He buried his nose in the messy tufts of Altaïr's hair and followed him into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> I had a lot of fun with this. :D (Also, [here](http://derryday.tumblr.com/) is a link to my Tumblr in case anyone's interested.) Thank you for reading!


End file.
